


Light That Match

by bashert



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, season one AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bashert/pseuds/bashert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He had fired her. And he had meant it.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Will fires MacKenzie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing breaks my heart now

**Author's Note:**

> This is Emily C's doing. So go ahead and blame her. And the title is from the Down Like Silver song. And I think that might cover it.

“You're fired,” Will's voice was firm, and Mac blinked a couple of times, unsure of what to do.

“I'm sorry?”

“You heard me, you're fucking fired. Go pack a box and get the hell out of my sight,” he told her.

“Will,” Mac started, and he shook his head.

“It's a Friday,” Will reminded her, before turning on his heels and storming out of her office.

* * *

“Where are you going?” Jim asked, watching as Mac threw books into a box, each one hitting the side of the cardboard with a thud. “What's going on?”

“He fired me,” she told him, swiping at her cheeks as she tossed another book into the box. She let out a shuddering sigh, placing both hands on the desk in front of her, her shoulders heaving as she began to cry softly.

“Mac,” her name came out of Jim's mouth as a whisper, disbelief mingling with pity, and the tone of his voice was what finally broke her and she began crying in earnest. She sank back into her chair, bringing her hand up to her mouth to muffle the sobs. He came around the desk and wrapped his arms around her, tugging her up out of the chair and to her feet. She buried her head in his chest.

“It was so stupid, coming back here,” she wept. " _I'm_ so stupid."

“I'm going to fucking quit,” Jim insisted, vehemently, as Mac's body trembled underneath his arms from the force of her crying. "Fuck him. You're not.. _.fuck_ him."

“No, no,” Mac shook her head. “Please don't. I made you come all this way. I made you quit your job and move to New York, and I can't ask you to quit.”

“You're not asking,” he shot back.

“Stay, at least until you find something else,” it was Mac's turn to be insistent, as she pulled back away from him. “Please, Jim. I can't...I can't be responsible for ruining your life too."

“I can’t work for him,” Jim said, his voice soft.

“He's a good man,” Mac told him, and Jim scoffed. “He is. He's just...he's complicated.”

“He's an asshole,” Jim replied. “It's not that complicated.”

“Please, just until you find another job,” Mac gave it one last try, and Jim let out a long sigh, glancing out into the newsroom before closing his eyes briefly and then nodding.

“Okay,” he agreed, and then grabbed a couple of books, placing them gently in the box. “Here, let me help.”

* * *

Will lit a cigarette and leaned against the railing of his balcony, taking a long drag.

He had fired MacKenzie. He had actually fired her.

Part of him had thought she would put up a bigger fight. Part of him _wanted_ her to put up a bigger fight.

Will had retreated to his office, slamming the door behind him, and he hadn't emerged for a solid hour. The newsroom was pretty much empty, and mostly dark, by the time he came back out. Mac's office light was off, her door wide open.

It was empty. Her books and pictures had been packed up. The papers that usually cluttered her desk were gone, and the mug that he had been surprised she still had was missing (it had been a gift from him, and when he remarked that he was surprised to see it, she had shrugged, not meeting his eye.

“It's traveled a long way,” she answered. And that was the last thing he wanted to think about. He didn’t want to think about the mug bumping in her backpack as she made her way through Pakistan. He didn't want to think about what she had gone through while she was gone, what she might have witnessed, lived through.

He didn't want to have to admit that maybe she had suffered, that maybe she had paid a penance for her sins, that maybe he wasn't the only one who had been shattered in the aftermath of her confession. He didn't want to cede any of the high ground, when the high ground was the only thing he had.)

Her things were gone. _She_ was gone.

Will rushed out of the office.

She was _gone_. He had fired her.

The cigarette wasn't helping. Even the scotch wasn't helping.

 _Fuck_.

In the moment, the moment where he told her to pack her shit and get out, he had meant it. In that moment he would have done anything to make her go away.

He'd always been prone to a short fuse (followed up by an ability to hold a grudge. A charming combination that he recognized had shades of his father, but recognizing something and being able to change it were two very different things), and Mac had always known how to press his buttons.

He had fired her. And he had _meant_ it.

But after he had calmed, as he stood, in the muggy, late summer night, he wasn't so sure.

They were onto something with this News Night 2.0 thing. Mac had been right, he was suddenly proud of what they had been doing, invested in his work again.

It occurred to him that he might never see her again. Last time she had run off to a warzone, and God only knew where she would disappear to this time. And this time it was on him, he sent her away, he fired her. He wasn't sure where she would go, but he knew her, he knew that she wouldn't stay around New York.

He might never see her again. And even though that was what he had wanted for so long, now that it was a real possibility, the thought left him feeling cold and empty.

Will took a long drink, and the scotch burned going down.

He sent her away this time.

Fuck.

* * *

Mac unlocked her apartment door, and after she closed it, she rested her forehead against it for a moment, before turning around and sliding bonelessly to the floor, her back against the door.

Will had actually gone and fired her.

She had lived in fear for the first few weeks, waiting on baited breath for him to exercise that clause in his contract, but when it hadn't happened, she started to breathe a little easier. Will was even starting to thaw a little bit. Their interactions were less stilted, more comfortable.

Maybe she had gotten too comfortable. She had stopped walking on eggshells around him, began standing up to him, voicing her opinions.

_You’re fucking fired._

Mac wasn’t sure how long she sat on the floor. Standing seemed an impossible task; taking far more energy than she could summon at the moment.

It took the phone ringing for her to finally climb to her feet. Despite herself, she hoped it was Will calling to apologize, a gruff voice telling her that he’d see her Monday.

It wasn’t. It was Charlie.

“Mac,” her name came out as a sigh. “He’s a fucking idiot.”

“An idiot who has the power to fire me,” Mac pointed out.  

“Power that he abused,” Charlie said. Mac didn’t say anything, because it didn’t matter if Jim thought Will was an asshole, or Charlie thought he was an idiot. He had negotiated three million dollars off his contract to be able to fire her, and here they were.

She shouldn’t have come back here. She should have never come back here. Damn Charlie Skinner. He should have left her to rot in that bowling alley.

“I’ll talk to him,” Charlie finally said, filling the silence.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mac replied, her voice cracking on the words. “Look, Charlie, we gave it our best shot, right? I think we both know that my coming back there isn’t a good idea. He doesn’t want me there, and I don’t…” She didn’t think she could handle much more of his vitriol, his bitterness, his anger. She might deserve a good part of it, but there was a limit. "I can't do it anymore, I can't be his punching bag."

"MacKenzie," Charlie tried.

"It's okay," Mac interrupted him

"It's not," Charlie replied, gently.

"No," Mac swallowed hard, feeling overwhelmingly sad and suddenly exhausted. "It's really not."

* * *

 

Will was half a bottle of scotch in when the doorman buzzed his apartment.

He half thought it might be Mac, come to fight for her job (and he half hoped it was. So he could back down, tell her to come in Monday, pretend like the whole thing hadn't happened). But it wasn't. It was Charlie Skinner, who pushed past him when Will opened the door and looked mad as hell.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Charlie exploded.

"I was thinking that she showed extreme insubordination, and I fired her," Will answered with a calm he didn't feel.

"You're an idiot," Charlie shook his head.

"Excuse me?" Will demanded.

"The show has never been better," Charlie pointed out, his hands coming to rest on his waist as he stared Will down. "That was her. She turned this into a show worth watching. She turned you into a real newsman."

"Have you seen the ratings lately?" Will shot back. "She's tanked our ratings."

"I was wrong. You're not an idiot. You're a _fucking_ idiot," Charlie exclaimed. "You two work together better than anyone I've ever seen! There was a reason I dragged her out of that bowling alley!" Will paused, the words _bowling alley_ bouncing around his brain, stalling his anger momentarily before he barreled on ahead.

“She’s not the right fit for the show,” Will maintained, and Charlie rolled his eyes.

“I’m not sure what exactly happened, but you need to fix it. She is the best EP in the damn business, and you need to get your head out of your ass and _fix this_ before she runs off and gets herself goddamn stabbed again in the name of journalistic integrity!” Charlie’s face was bright red with anger, and he was winding himself up to continue when he realized that Will was paling, frozen in his spot. “Christ, you didn’t know.”

“Stabbed, where? What are you talking about?” Will asked, his head filling with white noise, pushing out all other thoughts. His anger was dissipating quickly, being replaced with a low level uneasiness that he couldn’t quite name.

“You should ask MacKenzie,” Charlie said gently. “I thought you already knew.”

“Charlie, I swear to God I’m not fucking around, stabbed where? What the fuck are you talking about?” Will demanded, his hand trembling as he reached for a cigarette. He reminded himself that he had just seen Mac only a few hours before. Whole. Unharmed. Arguing with him. _Alive._

“I’m a little hazy on the details,” Charlie admitted. “I didn’t know her then, so when the wire report came down I didn’t give it a whole lot of thought. I did some digging, after I decided to go try to hire her. There was a protest gone awry, I’m not sure what happened, but she was stabbed in the stomach. It was...” he paused, his eyes narrowing to look at Will, assessing Will’s ability at the moment to handle the information,“…apparently it was pretty touch and go for a little while.”

“I didn’t know,” Will murmured. “I didn’t…how didn’t I know? I would have seen it come down the wire!” Despite himself, he had kept track of where MacKenzie was, what stories she was reporting on. It seemed damn near impossible that something like that might have happened and he hadn’t been aware of it.

“From what I understand, she fought very hard to keep it quiet,” Charlie answered. “Called in a fairly large amount of favors. Her father, too. I saw the initial report, at first it was just that a CNN reporter had been injured in a riot, and then when nothing more came of it, I figured they had sustained minor injuries and that there was nothing more to report.”

Jim would know, Will thought suddenly. Jim would know what had happened.

As soon as he thought it, Will knew that trying to get information from Jim was going to be like getting water from a stone. He wasn’t going to tell Will a thing, not if Mac had asked him not to. And it wasn’t lost on Will that his and Jim’s already precarious relationship was almost certainly going to be collateral damage in the aftermath of Mac’s firing.

“She’s okay?” Will asked, looking up at Charlie. “I mean, is there long term damage?”

“Physically or mentally?” Charlie asked, giving Will a hard look.

“Charlie,” Will started.

“Save it,” Charlie held up a hand and stopped Will. “And fix this."   



	2. Nothing moves my feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. There will be at least another chapter after this. It got away from me.

Will wasn’t looking forward to going into the office. Not when he was sure that his staff was going to take the news of Mac’s firing poorly. He had spent the night washing away his regrets with scotch and cigarettes, and doing his best to push the image of Mac, hurt, bleeding, Christ, _dying_ out of his mind. There was nothing he could do in the middle of the night (he could call her, a little voice reminded him. He could call her and apologize, and he could, except that he couldn't. He just _couldn't_.)

His goddamn temper had gotten the better of him once again.

When she had first appeared in the newsroom, his immediate thought was to get her as far away from him as possible by whatever means possible. He had stormed down to his agent to be able to negotiate firing rights, and Scott had tried to talk him off the ledge, but Will had been adamant. She could not stay.

“Three million, Will?” Scott had kept repeating. “This means enough to you to give up _three million_? Are you sure? You can’t learn to work with her?” Will had dug in his heels. No, he couldn’t work with her. No, she had to go. No, no, _no_. It was hard enough to try to forget about her when she wasn’t right in front of him, forget about the way she felt against him, the way she sighed in her sleep, the way her body moved with his. It was hard enough when she was thousands of miles away, out of sight, out of mind.

But when she was right there? In front of him? Where he had to see her every day? It was impossible. She needed to go, and he didn’t care how much it took to have her gone. Three million? Fine. Done.

But he didn't want to pile on more bad press in the first few weeks of her employment. He was already weathering one PR nightmare, there was no need to make things worse. So she could stay. For the moment, she could stay.

Will wouldn’t say that he had gotten used to her being there, but he had made some semblance of peace with the situation.

He wasn’t sure what had pushed him over the edge. It was a combination of things, he was sure. He was already in a piss poor mood, a story they had been working on for days had fallen apart, and Mac was being extra irksome and kept pushing him.

“You’re better than this, Billy,” she said, the nickname slipping out before she could catch herself, her eyes widening, and his teeth gritting together at the use of it. “Will. You’re better than this, Will.”

But, still, there was no last straw, just a million little things that had collided that day. He could point to their fights as proof they couldn’t work together. He could point to her antagonizing him as proof that she couldn’t do the job without their history clouding her judgment. His reasons at the time were sound, but now they felt hollow.

His staff was going to mutiny. And he couldn’t necessarily blame them.

And then there was the stabbing.

Will hadn't known about that. What else did he not know about?

He hated not knowing. He hated feeling imbalanced.

He had let her needle him. He had let her get under his skin.

He had fired her, and Charlie was right, he needed to fix it.

* * *

"He fired her? Actually _fired_ her?" Maggie asked, her voice just above a whisper as she glanced to Will's closed door. Will had walked into the newsroom and straight into his office, slamming his door behind him with considerable force.

They had noticed that Mac wasn't in. That her office sat empty. And Jim had quietly filled them in the silence that was left in the wake of Will's entrance.

"Yes," Jim sighed.

"Is she okay?" Tess asked. Jim shrugged. He had asked her if he could come over, told her he didn't think she should have to be alone, but she had given him a sad smile and told him she would be fine.

Jim wasn’t sold, but he hadn’t pushed. He helped her carry her box of things out to a waiting cab and sent her on her way.

“I can’t believe he actually fired her,” Maggie murmured. Just as the words came out of her mouth, Will’s office door flew open.

“Jim!” He barked. “I need to talk to you.” Jim hauled himself up out of his chair, his mouth set in a tight line as he went into Will’s office.

“I’m sure you know about Mac,” Will said as Jim walked in. Will settled himself in his chair, and reached for his pack of cigarettes.

“That you fired her?” Jim was blunt. “Yeah. I know.”

“I need you to fill in for her tonight,” Will continued.

“I wanted to quit,” Jim blurted out, unable to contain his anger any longer. How could Will be this calm? Jim could still see Mac’s devastated face, could remember how her body shook as she sobbed into his arms. Will had done that, and that was unforgivable.

Will glanced up sharply, meeting Jim’s eye for the first time since Jim stepped into his office.

“What?”

“I wanted to quit, when Mac told me that you had fired her, I wanted to quit. She stopped me. She told me that you were a good man,” Jim spat the words at Will, and when Will flinched he felt some sort of perverse pleasure. “You know what I think?”

“Careful,” Will warned.

“I think you’re an asshole,” Jim finished, his tone and posture defiant. “I don’t care if you fire me, too. Do you have any idea of what she went through? _Any_? Do you have any idea what this will do to her?”

“Jim,” Will sighed, and Jim was surprised to see Will wasn’t angry, if anything he seemed weary, his body slumping in his chair.

“I’ll do the show tonight,” Jim ignored him. “But you should start looking around for a replacement, because as soon as I find a new job, I’m gone.” Jim spun on his heels, pushed open Will’s door, and slammed it so hard the walls shook.

* * *

 

"I'm unemployed," Mac said the words out loud to her empty apartment. It didn't feel real, so she said it again, "I've been fired. I have no job. I'm unemployed." She paused. "Again."

 _Well hello, Rock Bottom_ , she thought. _So nice to see you again._

She thought about getting out of bed, but the idea overwhelmed her.

Besides, she reasoned, it wasn't as if she had anywhere to go.

When the phone rang, she figured it must be Jim or Charlie, checking in, and she wasn't surprised to see Jim's name flashing across the screen. She debated hitting ignore, but then figured that her not answering would send him into a blind panic.

"You worry too much," she said by way of greeting. She could practically feel him rolling his eyes.

"You doing okay?" Jim asked, and Mac fiddled with a string from her duvet cover and contemplated the question.

No.

She wasn't. But she didn't want Jim to come rushing over, half afraid she was going to drink herself into oblivion (which, she mused, didn't sound like a half bad idea. Forgetting, for awhile, had its appeal).

"Mac?" Jim pressed.

"I'm fine," she answered.

"Liar," he shot back.

"Yeah, well," Mac rubbed her forehead. "I'm about as fine as I can be all things considered, Jim."

"If you need anything," Jim started.

"You got a spare job laying around?" Mac gave a mirthless laugh, and then she swallowed hard. "I'm really...fine. Thanks for calling, Jim."

"Mac," he tried, but she was already hanging up.

* * *

 

The show was not one of his best.

It felt odd to have Jim in his ear, and he could feel the anger radiating through the earpiece. Jim's words were clipped, his tone terse, clearly pissed as hell at Will.

The whole staff was pissed as hell at Will. No one would look him in the eye at the rundown, and no one bothered to hide their irritation. He hadn't said anything about Mac's departure, other than telling them Jim would be filling that night. An announcement that was met with sympathetic looks Jim's way, and open hostility Will's way.

Will buried himself in work that day. If he idled too long he started thinking about things he shouldn't. He would start working himself up into a panic about the fact that she had been stabbed and apparently he hadn’t known about it. He had done his own digging after Charlie had told him, and it had been worse than he had thought. She had very nearly died.

And if she disappeared again, would she come home in one piece? Would she come home at all?

Several times during the day, Will almost asked Jim if MacKenzie was okay, if he had talked to her, but he knew he was pushing his luck. He was fairly certain that Jim was seconds away from hauling off and decking him, and he wasn’t sure he didn’t deserve it.

It wasn’t a day he would willingly repeat, and when the show was over, he found the newsroom cleared out pretty fast. Even Maggie, loyal Maggie, had seemed overwhelmingly disappointed in him (And that was maybe the worst of it. He could deal with anger, he was used to anger. He would take Jim’s scorching fury any day over Maggie’s disappointment).

He had fucked up. And he knew it. He could be in denial and rationalize a lot of behavior, but he had royally fucked up and he could admit that. He had been so busy trying to even the scales, that he hadn't realized they had tipped heavily against him (and it wasn't about evening the scales, he realized. It wasn't a reciprocal relationship. Or it didn't _need_ to be.)

So he found himself, an hour after the broadcast, knocking on MacKenzie's door. He had bribed her doorman into letting him up, and decided that warning her that he was coming would just end with her refusal to open the door.

"I'm fine, Jim," Mac said as she pulled open her door and then blinked at Will in surprise. "Oh. Will." He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back slightly on his heels, half anticipating her slamming the door in his face.

"Can we talk?" He asked.

"I'm not really in a mood," Mac replied, honestly, leaning against her door.

She looked terrible. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was pulled back in a limp ponytail, and it looked like she hadn't showered or slept in a couple of days--and she probably hadn't, and fuck if that wasn't his fault.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I shouldn’t have…” He shook his head, unsure of what he wanted to say exactly. “Could I just please come in?” Mac bit down on her lip and paused, looking so exhausted that it shattered what was left of Will’s residual anger.

Mac stepped aside to let him pass, and Will let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding waiting for her to decide.  

"I'm sorry," Will repeated. "It's still yours, the job, I mean. It's still yours if you want it." He recognized that maybe she wouldn't want it, but he hoped that she was willing to give it another shot.

They were just getting good at this, and he had gone and blown it by losing his temper.

Mac didn't say anything, just wrapped her arms around herself, and wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Mac," Will was unsure what to say, and he always hated being unsure about anything. "I just..."

"I don't understand," Mac finally looked up at him. "What the hell's changed? Is it just that you've cooled off? Because I can't...if you're going to fly off the handle and then apologize when cooler heads prevail, I'm not going to stick around for that. I can't do that, Will. I don't have the stomach for it." The word stomach made Will flinch, and his eyes darted to where he thought her scar might be.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Islamabad?” Will blurted out.

“What?” Mac froze.

“Charlie told me, although he didn’t know all of the details, but he told me that you were stabbed. You were _stabbed_ , MacKenzie. I didn’t know, why didn’t I know?” He was aware that he was rambling, but the words were spilling out of his mouth.

“You want to know why you didn’t know?” Mac unfolded herself, her spine straightening, and a flash of anger in her eyes. “You didn’t _know_ , Will, because you told me to go to hell. And I did. So forgive me for thinking you wouldn’t give two shits.”

“You really thought I wouldn’t care?” Will exclaimed. “I’ve felt a lot of things towards you, Mac, but never indifference, you had to have known that.” With that, Mac seemed to deflate slightly.

“I couldn’t bear to think you might not care,” she admitted. She rubbed at her forehead, and sank back onto the couch.

There was a long stretch of silence. Will had a million things to ask, a million questions on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t sure where to start.

“I would have come,” was what he finally said, breaking the tense silence. “If I had known, I would have come. I would have gotten on a plane and come.”

“Why?” Mac asked, and there was no malice in her voice this time, just naked curiosity, and he swallowed hard.

Why?

He realized he didn’t have to think about the answer, he didn’t have to question his motives. He was as sure about his answer as he was sure about anything.

“Because I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve never stopped.”


	3. No fire in my blood now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. It's grown by yet ANOTHER chapter. It's spiraled out of my control. A special thanks to Emily C. for reading it over for me (and insisting that no one minds if it keeps growing.)

"Wait, what?" Mac shot up from the couch.

"I'm in love with you, I never stopped," his voice was clear and sure, but his movements were hesitant as he stepped toward her.

“Are you…” Mac swallowed hard, trying to get control of her racing thoughts. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

That stopped Will, and he froze.

“No, I’m...no,” he shook his head. “I’m serious. I’m completely fucking serious.”

“Will,” Mac felt unsteady; she could feel her legs trembling slightly. "Please don't...if you aren't..." She shook her head, and Will closed the gap between them, grabbing at her hands.

"I'm not..." Will sighed, tightening his grip on her hand. "I want you to marry me. That's how serious I am. Will you marry me?"

Mac wasn't sure how to answer, because her mind had gone completely blank. She tried to think of an eloquent reply, but she ended up blurting out the first thing that came into her head:

"What in the fuck is happening right now?"

"I don't ever want to not be with you," Will started to explain, tripping over his words. "I don't ever...no, I love you, I'm going to go back to that, and will you marry me?" He paused, not long enough for her to actually answer before he plowed ahead. "I realize that when I say I don't want to live without you, my actions speak louder than my words, but I don't ever want to be not with you. I mean that, and I'll do whatever I can to prove it."

"Will," Mac started to say, her voice softening. "You've been without me before, what's suddenly changed?"

"You almost _died_ , Mac," his voice was pained, and Mac felt herself go cold.

"Is this just your overreaction to learning about that?" Mac asked. "Is this out of guilt? Because if this is out of guilt, you'll regret it."

If he was doing this out of some misplaced guilt, they would both live to regret it. Mac would throw herself all in, because if he was being serious (and she couldn't quite bring herself to believe him. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It always did), she was all in. Completely, totally, all in. And if he wasn't, if this was about him feeling guilty about the stabbing, or afraid that now that he had fired her she would go running back towards danger and not come back at all this time (she had come back the first time, but not whole, not undamaged), if he was doing it for those reasons than nothing had actually changed. He would become resentful of her, even more than he already was, and she couldn't bear that.

This felt too sudden, too unexpected for it to be real.

"It is _absolutely_ not out of guilt," Will insisted. "Okay. There's a story about a little kid who keeps shredding paper, and his parents take him to all kinds of doctors to get him to stop shredding paper, and finally they take him to the most expensive doctor in the world, and the doctor turns to the kid and says, 'kid, if you stop shredding paper, your parents will stop dragging you to doctors.' And the kid turns to his parents and says, 'why didn't you just say so?' The point of the story is the kid could just make himself happy if he just stopped." Will took a deep breath. "I think that's the point of the story, I don't know. What I do know is this: I love you and I've never stopped."

Mac didn't say anything; she was too busy trying to absorb what Will was saying.

He loved her. He never stopped.

“This is not about guilt, Mac, this about the fact that when Charlie told me that you had been _stabbed_ , I realized that everything else I’ve been holding onto is bullshit, it’s just bullshit. And I want to marry you, and I think you should say yes, I really do, but no matter what you say, there’s no chance I am ever gonna hurt you again. And no matter what you say, I’m gonna be in love with you for the rest of my life, there’s no way around that, that’s just a physical law of the universe. You own me. So if you don’t want to come back to ACN, that’s your…” “

Yes,” Mac finally found her voice, and it was Will’s turn to gape at her, clearly thrown.

“What?”

“Yes, I’m saying yes,” Mac gave a little disbelieving laugh.

If only because a part of her _didn’t_ believe it. How had she gone from lonely, unraveling, fired- _again_ \- to Will standing in front of her promising her job back, and promising to love her forever, _a physical law of the universe_ , how had that happened?

She had become accustomed to things not working out the way that she wanted, she was good at taking deep breaths, moving on, hoping for better next time. She was good at convincing herself she didn’t deserve good things, happy endings. She was good at convincing herself she didn’t deserve Will.

And yet.

Here he was, standing in front of her, asking her to marry him. Telling her he loved her, that he had always loved her, that he always would.

"Thank God,” Will breathed, closing the gap between them, his lips on hers, his kisses desperate, as if he was pouring all of himself into her, filling her up.

“We’re going to have renegotiate your contract,” Mac told him, pulling away slightly. Will looked adorably puzzled, and she ran a fingertip along his furrowed brow. She was allowed to touch him now.“You’re giving back firing power. You’re going to need to get some of that money you gave up back. We have a wedding to throw.”

Will’s smile cracked his face, and she kissed the wide smile off his face as they tumbled backwards towards the couch.

* * *

 

When Will woke up the next morning, he had a moment where he had forgotten where he was, and then he looked over at his arms full of MacKenzie, her lovely face inches from his, her breathing steady and reassuring, and he felt a kind of contentedness he hadn't ever felt before.

This was home. MacKenzie was home.

She stirred slightly, and he got a glimpse of her bare ring finger, and decided his first order of business was to buy a ring.

He knew her well enough to know that she hadn't quite decided if this was all an elaborate, cruel, new form of punishment. She was still waiting for the punch line, and he wanted to make sure she knew just how serious he was.

Mac stretched, and he got a glimpse of the puckered scar across her stomach.

"It doesn't hurt," Mac had assured him when they had made their way from her living room to her bedroom.

But it was wicked looking, a constant reminder of their time apart. Will had kissed it reverently, his lips brushing softly over her skin, before making his way up to her swollen mouth.

She blinked her eyes open and gave him a lazy smile.

"A girl could get used to waking up like this," she told him, her voice warm with sleep. He grinned, reaching out to tug her closer, dropping a line of kisses to her bare shoulder.

"As she should," he murmured into her skin. Mac made a noise of contentment. "We should play hooky today," he suggested.

" _You_ should play hooky. I was fired, I am unemployed," she told him, her words tempered by the grin on her face, but he felt something hard settle in his stomach.

She had never said if she was coming back to ACN. She had accepted his proposal, but they hadn't ever circled back to her job.

"You're not...I took it back! You have to come back, we're just getting good at this thing," he was aware that his voice had risen in pitch, a clear sign that he was panicking, and Mac kissed him softly.

"Calm the fuck down," she admonished. "I was teasing. Of course I'm coming back. Besides, who would hire me?"

"Who wouldn't?" He snorted, but he caught the look on her face, and stopped short. "Seriously, Mac, who _wouldn't_?" She sighed, and attempted to roll away from him, though his firm hand on her waist anchored her to the bed.

"Can't we have a blissful honeymoon period?" She muttered.

"What don't I know?" He asked. It was becoming abundantly clear to him that there was a lot he didn't know.

"I didn't exactly have places lining up to hire me after CNN fired me," she admitted.

"CNN _fired_ you?" Will exclaimed. "What the fuck were they thinking?"

"They were thinking I failed my psych eval," she replied, and he was grateful that she didn't point out that this side of 48 hours he had also fired her.

"That's bullshit," Will spat, and this time when Mac moved away from him, he let her, clenching and unclenching his fists in irritation.

He sat up, his back against the headboard, and Mac climbed on his lap, putting her hands on his shoulders.

"It wasn't a good time for me," Mac said simply. "And we can talk about it. We _should_ talk about it. We should get everything on the table, but right now, I really don't want to. I just want to do this." She leaned forward and kissed him. "And this." She nipped at the bottom of his chin. "And _this_." She let her hand wander down under the covers. "Is there any way I can convince you to drop this for the moment?"

It turned out, it didn't take much convincing at all.

* * *

As he suspected it might be, it was bedlam the second the staff spotted Mac walking in behind him.

There was a beat of stunned silence, followed by Neal sputtering,

"Wait, are you back?" And when Mac nodded, the place exploded.

"Listen up," Will called and everyone calmed down for a moment, all eyes swinging in his direction. "I know we've had some upheaval the past couple of days, but everyone's where they should be now. Our executive producer is, and will remain, MacKenzie Morgan McHale soon to be McAvoy." He spun on his heels to face Mac. "That's a ridiculous name, you know?"

His announcement was met with a hushed silence, everyone looking from Mac's wide smile to Will's grin.

"Are you _kidding_?" Jim exclaimed, and Will didn't think he was imagining the edge to Jim's voice. The question was aimed at Mac, whose bright smile dimmed only slightly.

"My ridiculous name aside, I'm happy to be back, so let's all get back to work, rundown in a half hour," she gave Jim a pointed look, and reached over and gave Will's hand a quick squeeze.

Will felt a bit deflated. That was not how he thought the reaction to their impending nuptials would go over.

Mac made her way to her office, people hugging her and shouting out they were happy she was back as she went, she caught his eye as they arrived at her office.

"It'll be fine," she told him softly. "It's big news to adjust to." She gave his hand another squeeze. "Hey, I love you."

And the smile she gave him was enough to restore a little balance, tipping the world back into place. Mac knew he was all in, and for the moment, that was enough.

* * *

Mac had been in her office for less than ten minutes when her door flew open and Jim stalked in.

"Hello, there," she offered him a smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you lost your mind?" Jim asked.

"I don't think so," Mac answered, calmly.

"You're going to _marry_ him?"

"I am," she was firm. "I love him. And he loves me."

"He fired you!" Jim reminded her.

"I know," Mac sighed, standing and walking around her desk to where Jim stood, his arms tightly wrapped around himself, his posture tense. "I know what you think of him, Jim, and I know you're trying to look out for me, and I appreciate it, I do. But we've talked, he and I, and he's all in."

"Mac, I just don't want to see you make a mistake," Jim said softly. Mac put her hands on his upper arms and gave them a squeeze.

"I'm not, I promise you, I'm not. I know he hasn't exactly made the best impression on you," she started.

"He's an ass," Jim insisted. Mac gave a soft smile, and nodded.

"Sometimes he can be," she conceded. "But I love him, Jim. And he's a good man. Give him a chance to prove it. Trust me, okay?" Jim sighed, a long suffering sigh, and then nodded.

"I just want to make sure you're okay," he said softly, and Mac nodded. "And if you're happy, I'll do my best to be happy for you."

"I am," she assured him. "I'm really, very happy." Jim didn’t get it, and she understood.

Jim only knew Will through Mac's stories, and then these past few months. And it wasn't as if Will was his best self since she had gotten back.

She just had to convince Jim and the staff that Will was a good guy, with a good heart, underneath all that bluster.

And fortunately, she was going to be around, so she had plenty of time in order to do so.

* * *

Will knocked on Charlie's door and poked his head in.

"You got a sec?" Will asked.

"Sure," Charlie leaned back in his chair. Even Charlie was slightly cold toward him, and Will was struck once again by how much he had fucked up by firing Mac.

"I wanted to let you know we have an EP," Will said, dropping into the chair across from Charlie and watching in amusement as Charlie's face darkened.

"When the fuck did this happen? It's only been a few days! I thought you were...I don't understand, you were supposed to..." Charlie sputtered.

"Settle down, old man," Will smirked. "I'll have you know that this person is great at her job, mouth like a sailor, legs that don't quit, and is smarter than me in every way possible..."

"Well, I'll be damned," Charlie's face broke out into a grin. "You apologized?" Will nodded.

"And then I proposed," he added, and was rewarded with a stunned look from Charlie, which quickly morphed back into a wide smile.

"Smartest thing you've ever done," Charlie told him, wagging a finger in Will's direction.

"I know," Will replied, serious as hell. "Trust me, I know."

"Congratulations!" Charlie was genuine, his happiness real and solid. It was the opposite of the staff's reaction, but that was okay, Will understood. He had a long way to go, lots of reparations to make. He understood that he was not the easiest guy to work for before MacKenzie returned, and he also understood that was an understatement.

But now he was in this. Committed to the show, committed to Mac. All in.

Will accepted the glass of scotch from Charlie's outstretched hand, and mirrored the stupid happy grin on Charlie's face.


	4. Race the moon right over the trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, really it, for real. I almost thought that it might last forever. Special thanks to the usual suspects. Hope this an acceptable finish!

Will grabbed the drinks from the bar and made his way through the crowded restaurant back to where Mac was tucked into a booth, surrounded by the staff.

He handed Mac's whiskey to her as he dropped down on the seat beside her, sliding his arm around her shoulder.

"Thanks," she mouthed, sliding her own hand onto his thigh before taking a sip and turning her attention back to the story that Tess was telling.

It had been eight months since they had gotten engaged, and two since Mac had turned to him, after a series of conversations with her mother, then her older sister, then her younger sister, then her mother again about seating charts, and said exasperatedly,

"Fuck it, let's just get married."

Will, wisely, said nothing about the seven weeks it took them to pick invitations.

They had run down to City Hall at lunch, dragging a reluctant Jim and a beaming Charlie with them to be their witnesses.

Now they were married, actually _married_ , and if Will had still had any residual bitterness toward MacKenzie, it had long since evaporated.

She made him a better journalist, a better anchor. Fuck, she made him a better _person_.

And slowly, he was winning the staff over (it helped, tremendously, that MacKenzie vouched for him again and again).

He dropped his hand on top of hers, tangling their fingers together and feeling the cool weight of her wedding band against his skin.

Mac was a little drunk, which he found, as he found most things about her, ridiculously adorable. Will knew because she was giggling a lot more than she normally did, and her hand was wandering further than she generally allowed around the staff.

When her head finally hit his shoulder, he decided that it was time to go home. She tipped her face toward him and grinned a sloppy, happy grin.

"You want to get out of here?" Will asked softly, and she nodded, turning her face so it was buried in his shoulder, before signing and heaving herself to her feet, reaching a hand down to pull Will to his.

"We're going to go," she announced as Will helped her put her jacket on. "Try to stay out of trouble."

"Aye aye, Captain," Gary saluted her, and Mac giggled again, slipping her hand into Will's.

They said their goodbyes and made their way back out of the place, stopping briefly at the bar to settle their tab, Mac's head resting against Will's back as he signed the bill and threw down some money to cover one more round of drinks for their staff.

When they stepped out into the cool, early spring night, Will went to flag down a cab and Mac stopped him.

"Can we walk?" She asked. "It's just such a nice night." Will pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Sure," he agreed easily, giving her hand a squeeze. Mac was uncharacteristically quiet as they walked, and he frowned slightly, wondering if it was more than just her being drunk and tired. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" Will finally asked gently.

"I was thinking that it's almost been a year," she said softly. She didn't specify what had happened nearly a year ago, but she didn't have to.

A year ago she came back into his life, waltzed right in with a hesitant smile and a rousing speech about fighting the good fight. A year ago his life had imploded, and thank Christ it had. A year ago he had been a miserable son of a bitch.

And then Mac appeared in the newsroom, all nerves and forced optimism, and he had very nearly pushed her right back out again. A year ago he had been an idiot, and he was _still_ an idiot (his wife sometimes told him so in a loving voice, her eyes crinkling as she laughed), but he wasn't nearly the idiot he would have been had he dug his heels in when he fired Mac.

Her firing was one of the many things they had talked about when they had first gotten back together. There was a lot of hurt on both sides simmering just under the surface, and they had spent long nights explaining, apologizing, taking all their broken edges and smoothing them over so they fit together better than they ever had before.

"What should we do to celebrate?" Will asked. Mac looked thoughtful, and then she shrugged.

"We could have a party," she suggested, and when he groaned, she poked him hard in the side.

"I was hoping for a more private celebration," he muttered, and he tugged her closer.

"After," she conceded. "God, a year ago I was sure you were going to toss me onto the streets as soon as you were able." She paused. "And you _did_." He stiffened, but then he caught her smirk in the soft streetlight, and relaxed.

"I've said I was sorry for that," he shot back, and she kissed him hard.

"Many times," she agreed. " _And_ you have bought me many things to try to make amends. Including this monstrous thing." Mac held out her hand in front of her, wiggling her fingers.

He had made sure getting a ring was a priority as soon as Mac had told her parents and sisters about her engagement (which had gone over better than he had anticipated. He had been afraid of them blaming him for Mac's time embedded, for the fact that she had been stabbed, and had called out his name while she was delirious and in pain, and he hadn't been there.

It didn't matter how many times MacKenzie reminded him that he couldn't have been there, because he hadn't known about it. He still felt a heavy, stifling guilt when he thought of her laying in the dusty streets, bleeding and terrified, Jim's face hovering over hers, and her mouth forming Will's name. No wonder Jim still hadn't quite warmed to him).

He had called her sister Penelope, the only sister who also lived on this side of the pond, and Pen had driven down from Boston and helped him pick out a ring for Mac (although, to be fair, Pen had also tried to convince him that Mac didn't need a karat for every year he had known her, but he had overruled her suggestions of more reasonable sized rings.

"After the shit she's been through, Mac deserves the best," he argued, and Pen was forced to agree).

Mac had snorted when she saw the size of the ring, before promptly bursting into tears.

"It's real," she had explained in a watery voice as he slid it on her finger. She launched herself at him, kissing him hard, before pulling back and admiring the ring weighing down her hand.

In the beginning, the ring had distracted both of them, their attention being drawn to the stone, and they’d gaze at it, and then each other, in wonder. It was less startling, now, to see it on Mac’s finger, but it still caught him off guard sometimes.

That was MacKenzie’s engagement ring. MacKenzie was his wife.

He tightened his grip on her hand, and she leaned into him.

“I don’t buy you _that_ many things,” he argued, and she gave a short, disbelieving bark of laughter.

“Liar,” she accused. “I think you bought out Tiffany’s the first few weeks after we had gotten back together. I didn’t even know they _made_ pens until one showed up on my desk.” She had gotten half angry when she saw it sitting there, the long blue box with a bow on top.

“If this is another necklace, William Duncan McAvoy, I swear to God,” she had begun, tugging off the bow. It wasn’t. It was a pen, slim, expensive, and completely unnecessary, as she had told him many times (he had been pretty proud of that purchase. She worked with pens after all, it wasn’t that much of a stretch).

“You could have taken it all back!” He exclaimed, and she reached up and pressed a kiss on his jaw.

“Oh, relax, you know I’m teasing. I love your gifts, you just don’t have to buy me all those things. I’m not going anywhere,” Mac reassured.

“Does that mean I also don’t have to throw a one year anniversary party?” Will tried.

“Oh no,” Mac replied, a grin on her face. “That you still have to do.”

* * *

“Are you having a good time?” Mac asked, coming into the kitchen to grab more wine. She slid her hand along his back as she walked past.

“Wonderful,” Will deadpanned. “You know how much I love opening our home to large groups of people.” She pinched his waist as she reached past him to grab the corkscrew.

“I know, you said as much in your inspiring speech,” Mac replied, shooting Neal and his girlfriend a smirk. She glanced around the room, and her eyes narrowed. “What’s going on in here?"

“Nothing,” all three said at the same time. Mac paused, and then nodded slowly.

“Okay,” she said, giving Will’s arm a squeeze as she passed. “I don’t think I want to know.” Will was sure she was going to find out, considering how much weed he had ingested (in addition to the Vicodin that he had taken before the party at Mac’s behest, when he couldn’t walk without groaning.

“Take something for the pain,” his wife had demanded.

“Don’t act like I’m not hurting right now because of _you_ ,” he had shot back, but he couldn’t help but mirror the smile that ghosted across her face at the memory of the night before. He didn’t regret a thing, even if his knees and elbows might).

“I’m fine,” Will reassured Neal and Kayley after Mac had left the kitchen. “My body has the physical tolerance of ten men. Doctors have called me a medical marvel.”

“Mac’s going to kill me,” Neal groaned, but Will waved him off, wandering out of the kitchen to find his wife.

“Mike Tappley just texted me,” Mac announced when Will spotted her in the living room. “‘I’m available, call me?’ He knows I’m married, right? Who hits on a married woman like that?”

“I’ll kill him,” Will chimed in, but his voice lacked any real conviction. Mac turned and gave him a hard look, her head tilting slightly.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked

“I thought you didn’t want to know,” Will grinned at her. “I was bonding with our staff. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it? Wasn’t what this whole damn party was about? Me bribing our staff into liking me?” Mac hit his arm (a lot harder than he would have thought she could, considering her size).

“ _We_ are having this party to celebrate News Night’s rebirth, and rewarding our staff’s dedication,” she reminded him. Will slid an arm around her waist, and buried his nose in the crook of her neck, planting a line of kisses.

"I think we've been hospitable enough," he murmured into her warm skin. "I think everyone should leave now."

"This is why I'm everyone's favorite," Mac pointed out, shoving her husband back slightly. " _Will_. We still have an apartment full of people." Will straightened, disappointed, and he was about to argue, but something was happening and Mac was already moving away, but time was moving disjointedly, and _shit,_ he was really fucking high.

But it didn't matter, because Mac had that look in her eye, and he could do this, pull himself together for her.

And hell, at least people were leaving his apartment.

* * *

 

After the broadcast, Mac slipped into Will's empty office to wait for him.

He had knocked it out of the park. High as a fucking kite. Unbelievable. She wasn't sure if she had never been prouder of him, or if she absolutely wanted to strangle him.

The staff, however, was proud of him. Even Jim, who, at the end of the show, had tugged on her sleeve.

"I get it," he shrugged. "You were right, he has the potential to be a great newsman." Mac, delighted and delirious from exhaustion, had leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek. She was surprised to realize that she felt overwhelmed with emotion, and bit her lip to stop from crying.

"Thanks Jim," she said softly.

"Jury's still out on his potential to be a good husband," Jim added, but he was fighting a smile.

She had told the staff to go home as soon as they were off the air.

"You'll be back in the morning," Mac apologized. "The least I can do is let you get a couple of hours of sleep." Although, she was pretty sure none of them were actually going to sleep, riding the high of the broadcast.

Neal had paused on his way out, looking sheepish and apologetic.

"Is Will okay?"

"Oh," Mac waved away his concern. "He's a medical marvel, didn't you hear?" A fact which had been repeated to her no less than four times by her husband during the course of the night when she asked him how he was doing.

She stopped asking.

"He really is. That should have taken him down," Neal mused, and Mac laughed.

"Don't tell him. He'll be even more insufferable," she warned. "Go home, Neal. And great job." Neal beamed, nodding his head, and collecting his half asleep girlfriend from where she was curled up asleep at a desk.

Mac had gone straight to Will's office to wait for him, and he finally appeared, giddy and grinning like an idiot.

"I'm not just saying this because I'm high," Will began, reaching a hand down and tugging her to her feet. "You were spectacular tonight. Seriously, MacKenzie, _spectacular._ "

"You weren't too bad yourself," Mac told him, laying her hands flat on his chest. "All things considered."

"I love you," Will said, sobering for the first time. "You know how much I love you, right? I've never stopped. Not once. Not ever." Mac reached up a hand and brushed an errant piece of hair off his face, before kissing him softly.

"I know," she assured him. "It's a physical law of the universe." She thought for a moment how different her life had been one year ago. How lonely and broken she had been, clawing her way back to the land of the living. The job had been what was keeping her afloat.

She thought about Will firing her, and the crushing panic, followed by a strange calmness, _of course,_ she had thought, _the other shoe dropped. Of course it did._

And then there was Will, standing in her apartment, proposing, offering her job back and his love. And now they were married, committed, both in, all in. To the show and to each other.

It was, she decided, well worth celebrating.

"Let's go home," she declared. Will raised an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin on his face, and she snorted.

"I like the sound of that," Will said.

"Like you're not going to be asleep as soon as we walk in the door," she squeezed his hand and tugged him out of his office.

"I'm a medical marvel," he argued. "I have the tolerance of..."

"Ten men, yeah, yeah," Mac interrupted, pausing in the darkened newsroom and kissing him hard.

"What was that for?" Will asked. "Not that I'm complaining..."

"Because I love you, you idiot," she explained, with a soft smile. "Now, let's go home. If you pass out in the car, I don't think I'm strong enough to drag you into the apartment." She let go of him, and his laugh followed her into the elevator.


End file.
